Twelve years ago I was broken. I had just ended a 29-year marriage, sent my only kid off to college, and was left broke and unemployed, left with the cats and the dog to feed. Not exactly my life plan. I was alone for the first time in my life and filled with fear.

I'm on the back nine of my life. I never thought it would happen to me. Age, that is. I still thought I was 25 until I was 42, and now 50 looms large in its significance. It's highly likely that my time left on earth is shorter than what I have behind me. That changes everything.

For reasons I could not explain in 10,000 words or less, I moved to a small town on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica, for three months or more, to determine how I begin with all of this that has happened, and to wait for this story of the pain in my neck to resolve.

I know I can't let this Christmas season go to waste, because next year, I'll be an adult living on my own. The prospect of this scares me a bit, but if I hold to what I hold most dear to me, maybe moving out won't be so intimidating.

The "empty nest." It's a term that conjures up images of despondent midlife parents whose lives are suddenly devoid of the chirping of their beloved brood. Without their kids, mom and pop have no one to talk to but each other.